Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Brand, Brand Suicide, Cars, Context, Creativity, Culture, Design, Experience, Fashion, Ferrari, Italy, Luxury
I saw this billboard for Ferrari’s clothing and apparel lines … known as Ferrari Style.
And while the design of the billboard isn’t great …
[which is a bit weird for a company that has built part of its distinctiveness through design]
And while it’s a bit strange they are only showing their F1 cars …
[when their luxury status has been informed more by their day-to-day supercars]
At least it’s better than the Micro SD cards they produced years ago, which they sold under the guise of ‘really fast data transfer’.
Or the electric Luce they launched months ago.
And – to be fair – with their heritage, lifestyle and status, they do have a legitimate right to play in this area, but my question is who is going to buy it?
Will it be people who want EVERYONE to know they own a Ferrari?
Will it be people who want everyone to THINK they own a Ferrari?
Will it be people who simply want to LOOK part of the Ferrari lifestyle?
Full disclosure, I own one of their items … but while I really do like the design and the quality is superb, I was given it as a gift because there wouldn’t be a cat-in-hells-chance I’d own it if I had had to pay my own money for it.
I digress …
The point is, given Italy isn’t exactly short of highly respected, highly regarded, highly aspirational luxury fashion brands … who do you think is actually going to buy their products and, even more interestingly, why are they???
Now if only I had a comment section people could write their answers on?!
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Cars, Dad, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Friendship, Love, My Childhood, New York, Paul
So recently I talked about how I was in New York I saw a bunch of things that triggered some deep nostalgia in me.
First was the bank of payphones at JFK airport … but then there were 2 cars.
The first was this bright yellow VW Golf soft-top.
On one level, it stood out simply because it’s bright yellow and it was a super sunny day.
But it was more than that …
Because not only did it seem to encapsulate what I thought America was like – specifically California, based on various TV shows I would watch as a kid – but it reminded me of what Paul’s Mum drove when we were growing up.
OK, so hers was more mustard than yellow, as I remember it.
And it was most definitely not a stop top … not in bloody Nottingham.
But they were the first family I ever knew that had TWO cars and that was the one that would ferry Paul and I to various activities as we grew up … so it is almost entirely associated with positive memories.
Of course, part of the reason my feelings towards this car were so positive is likely because of it’s excellent condition. It meant I didn’t have to face how old it was which meant I just connected to how present and perfect it was.
Which kind-of explains why this other car stopped me in my tracks as I was walking down a backstreet in Chelsea.
That is a Jaguar XJ-S.
Another old car in utterly excellent condition.
At the time it came out, it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
Sure, now I know it was influenced by their iconic E-Type, but as a kid it was like it had come out of outerspace.
Powerful … sleek … aggressive yet sophisticated. It was a car that was seemingly designed for the rich, famous and fast living, so it was no surprise when Simon Templar – from the British TV show, Return Of The Saint – drove one in every episode.
As a kid, The Saint was cool as fuck.
Sure, 40+ years later I realise he’s basically a Temu-James Bond character … but back then, I wasn’t old enough to watch Bond movies, so The Saint was the closest thing I had to an accessible, real-life-relevant TV/Movie hero.
So you can imagine my glee when my Uncle Andrew turned up at our house one day driving an XJ-S as his new company car. [He was a high-flying sales manager for American Express, which is why he got this beast compared to classic company car of the age, the Ford Escort]
OH MY GOD … it was like a movie star had come to visit us.
But it got even better, because Uncle Andrew said my Dad could take it for a drive …
HOLY FUCK!!!
So even though it was quite late, I was allowed to squeeze in the backseat – while still wearing my pyjamas – while Dad positioned himself in the drivers seat, accompanied by his brother-in-law before we sped off.
And while we were only gone for about 10 minutes, one part of that one-off trip is burned into my memory.
Dad drove us down the ring road and as we approached the roundabout, I remember him saying to Andrew:
“The brakes are a bit spongy”
To which my Uncle leaned over to see the speedo and said,
“That’s because you’re doing 100mph”.
My Dad was both shocked and impressed, whereas I – on the other hand – was in awe, both of the car and my Dad.
ONE HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR.
IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE!!!
You have to understand, our family car was – if memory serves me – either a bottom of the range Ford Escort, a bottom of the range Leyland Marina or an absolutely horrific Fiat 128 … or said another way, a car that couldn’t hit 100mph even if you were going down a steep hill with a tail wind behind you and even if it could, it would be so loud and the car so shakey, that your body would be crushed to smithereens before you reached a stop. But here we were, in a car that was not only able to reach ‘rocket speed’, but was able to do it with such smoothness and luxury that you didn’t even realise what was going on. Basically, you imagined it was what Concorde would be like it it had 4 wheels and could go on British roads.
I can’t remember what year this happened but I remember every bit of what happened which is why when I saw that Jaguar XJ-S on the street, it immediately took me back to that night. With my Dad. Sharing a moment neither of us ever had experienced before.
A bonding moment that I treasured then and treasure even more now.
Which is why – whoever the owner of that Jag is – thank you. You gave me a chance to have a little road trip with my Dad in NYC and I’ll forever be grateful for that.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Airports, America, Comment, Food, Germany, Planes
I appreciate the title of this post is already off-putting.
I also accept what I am about to write is the height of first world problems.
And while I’m at it, I also accept some may interpret this as an attempt to humble brag.
But putting all that aside, have a look at the food I got at the Lufthansa Lounge at JFK in NYC.
Brown. Lots of shades of brown.
Dark brown.
Brown brown.
Orangey brawn.
The Germans really seem to love their browns!
But you know what’s even scarier?
I chose all these items.
That’s right, all of this was my own personal choice.
Admittedly, it was because the other food on offer – unsurprisingly, also brown – was even less appetizing than the tragic plate above, but also because this was the healthiest food available.
The healthiest!!!
A small piece of pretzel bread.
Some baked pumpkin.
A Coke Zero.
OK, I appreciate the Germans aren’t exactly renown for their healthy eating or healthy food but I tell you what, they know how to make tragic items taste bloody awesome.
I bloody loved it.
Every depressing mouthful of it.
Hell, I’d go to errrrm, war for Pretzel bread … well, I would if there was no more Sourdough in existence.
[I have been told by Germans there’s no such thing as Pretzel ‘bread’ … but just like there’s no such thing as Chicken Tikka Masala in India, the outside world decided to take it, bastardise it and enjoyed it in various forms over the years – and for that I am both very, very sorry and very, very grateful]
And while I’m sure there would be many airport lounge visitors who would be outraged at the rubbishness of the JFK Airport, Lufthansa Lounge food offering [which was still less depressing that the interior design of the lounge] I can tell you, for a bloke from Nottingham trying to stay healthy in a way where his taste buds still have some hope … it was epic.
So here’s to Lufthansa …
Your ads may be rubbish.
Your lounge – at least at JFK – may be depressing.
But your food is perfect … at least if you come from Nottingham and have very low standards of discernment.
Late last year I bought a suit.
I know … I know …
The fact is, I’d not actually worn anything like that for 30+ years.
Not for my wedding.
Not for my friend’s weddings.
Not even for my parent’s funerals.
But having been invited to a ridiculously fancy dinner by some ridiculously famous people, I thought it was time to take the plunge – aided by the fact I’d lost a lot of weight and wanted to surprise them, as well as myself.
In typical fashion, the dinner ended up being postponed as one of the hosts suffered a tragic loss, so while I don’t regret buying the stupidly expensive threads, I’ve never had a reason to wear them, so they’ve stayed hanging up in my wardrobe waiting for it’s public ‘launch’.
Anyway, while I was in NY, my brilliant son – Otis – was part of a film competition and needed a suit to wear for his character.
Let me tell you nothing – ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING – reminds you how quick kids grow up than seeing your son in a suit.
Not just in any suit, but YOUR suit.
And he’s only 11 … though, I have to admit I do think it’s pretty cool, even if I’ll forever be the second person to wear my own bloody suit.
Filed under: 2026, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis
I’m not back, but today would have been my Dad’s 88th birthday so I had to mark the occasion.
Eighty Eight!!
That means he’s been gone 28 years. Or said another way, literally half my life.
HALF! That is both wild and seemingly impossible.
And yet it’s true, which is why I’m extra happy he’s been in my thoughts a lot recently. Not that he was ever out-my-mind, but his presence has been more – errrrm – present and I like it.
I loved being an only child.
I was spoilt with love, support, care and attention.
I never wanted for brothers or sisters and always adored the company of Mum and Dad.
Even during my angst-ridden teenage years.
I feel extremely grateful for that … though it was only when I saw the relationship some of my friends had with their parents, that I truly sppreciated how lucky I was.
Which is why when my parents died, the loss was overwhelming.
In some ways, it felt like I experienced their death twice.
Because while Dad was first and Mum followed 16 years later – there was a moment immediately after Mum was gone that I truly realized – and felt – that I was truly alone.
It felt weird and sad and scary …
A strange mix of abandonment and feeling like an orphan.
It was a very challenging time, even though I was an adult with my own family.
In fact, if it wasn’t for them, I genuinely wonder how long it would have taken for me to feel I had got back on an even keel, because even with them, it took years.
The thing with death – as I’ve written many times before – is that while people are very supportive towards you at the moment of loss, within 24 hours they have generally all moved on with their lives. That’s not meant as a diss … they have their own issues and challenges to deal with … but the impact of that is you feel even more alone.
But if I think I had it bad when Dad died, my poor Mum had it worse.
Not only had she lost her husband of 35 years – a man she had been taking care of 24/7 for over 3 years after he suffered multiple debilitating strokes – she also saw her only son leave her to go back to Australia where he lived.
When I try to put into words the sense of isolation and loss I felt when I realized I no longer had any ‘real world’ parental support, I think of how Mum must have felt those first few days after losing Dad and feel so sad that maybe I didn’t really understand it until too late.
Didn’t really understand it till I wrote this post.
But as I said, my Dad – and Mum – have been on my mind a lot recently.
Or should I say, part of my energy.
It’s given me a real sense of comfort and warmth rather than just a feeling of loss.
They come up in conversation.
Everyday moments trigger good, funny and special memories with them.
When I talk about them, it in a weird blend of past and present tense.
Put simply, it’s lovely.
A feeling I’m closer to them than I’ve been in years.
Of course, I would do anything to still have them around … have them be part of my life and my families … share, experience and build more moments and memories … but as dead parents go, this is quite a wonderful period I am having with them.
Which is why today – on what would be Dad’s 88th birthday – I won’t just be thinking of him and feeling the loss of him not being around any longer, I’ll be talking to him and letting him know that despite being gone half my life, the love and impact he had on me for those first 26 years of my life still have a grip of comfort, adoration and respect.
Which as proof of doing a good job as a parent goes, is pretty much the pinnacle.
So happy birthday Dad. I still feel very lucky I get to call you that.
Rx
